


Kintsugi

by Malevol



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannigram if you squint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malevol/pseuds/Malevol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal sends Will a broken teacup as a symbol of their broken friendship. Will fixes it.</p>
<p>Written for the Hannibal Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kintsugi

Another day the sun woke him, another day he already knew from beginning to end. Will would force his breakfast down while contemplating life, fish himself a meal, regret he had betrayed his only friend and go to sleep without sleeping at all. He was still recovering from Hannibal's parting gift – he had made sure Will would never forget him. 

He kept laying in bed until he built up enough motivation to push Winston off his legs. Made a beeline to the bathroom, relieved himself and rebandaged his stomach wound with great care. Then he took his dogs out, not even properly dressed yet, and found an odd little packet on his doorstep.

Will took it inside to inspect it closer and knew instantly whom he had to thank for this little surprise. The packaging thread smelled faintly of shampoo and was spun evenly from thin, maroon hair, human in origin. He did not dare to tear the wine red wrapping off, instead he cut an opening into the wide end along the edges, taking great care not to damage the hard, boxy content. 

It was a simple black chest that slid out of the wrapping. Will caressed the chest, his rough fingernails scraping gently over the wood until he reached a cold, golden buckle that he opened with hesitation, dreading that he might find another ear. 

What he found was much more innocent than what he feared, but just as heart-wrenching: From under several layers of protective gauze he retrieved the shards of an ornate porcelain teacup - a symbol Hannibal had used for their shattered friendship. 

Will was confused. If Hannibal sent him the teacup to remind him of what pain he had caused Hannibal, then why would he wrap the shards in gauze? After all, it was already broken. 

His imagination answered his question:

"It is your fault our friendship broke, therefore it is your responsibility to repair it. I miss you, Will."

But Will would not just fix their little teacup. He would make it bloom more beautiful than ever before.

 

His stomach ached and his pinky bled but he would continue fixing the teacup until his conscience was sated. He was currently mixing the resin, an air-drying lacquer that he had added gold dust and a droplet of his blood. The amount of blood was not enough to change the colour or the properties, it was the gesture of pouring his heart and soul into this project that counted - literally. 

When satisfied he set the little bowl containing the resin aside and turned to the shards. It seemed that the teacup was very carefully broken, the pieces were few, large and complete. Will began with the body of the cup, painting the rim of the biggest fragment with the resin and pressed it to the neighboring shard. How long was he supposed to hold them this way? After five minutes, he cautiously took his hands off and nothing happened. He let out a sigh he did not know he had been holding and proceeded.

Then it happened. He was tired, his perception of time diffuse, and the first shard he had glued came loose. It did not break any further, but Will was devastated. He had been working hours and hours, well into the night, his dogs were already asleep but he, he could not just rest during such an important task! 

Self-punishment would fix nothing though. Thus he tried again, and again, and again, lengthening the time pressing the fragments each time they broke apart. He tried very hard not to fall asleep but ultimately his body took over control as he did not dare moving for twenty minutes already, and his eyes fell shut.

He woke up in the last hours of the night to Winston nudging his nose on his knee and the teacup almost falling out of his hand. It was almost finished, the only shard left was its handle, the most difficult piece. Smiling, he set the cup down to safety, let his dogs out, rushed through his morning routine and got to work, lacquering and pressing until their teacup was whole again.

And once it was dried and finished, it was stunningly beautiful for such a mundance piece of pottery. Golden veins sprawled the cup, all meeting in a central point where Hannibal had apparently drilled a predetermined breaking point in. They complemented the original flowery ornaments the teacup came with very well and shimmered blindingly against the morning sun.

He sent the cup back the same day to the return adress that was provided on the original wrapping, a post office box in France, repackaged in its chest embedded in gauze.  
Will hoped dearly the teacup would arrive whole and unscathed in France, and more dearly, in the hands of Hannibal. He checked his mail every hour for a response, or just any form of acknowledgement, and drove himself mad with worry. His dogs picked up on Will's distress, tried to comfort him and reminded him to eat, to leave his house and to sleep. 

A month later Will's wound was almost fully healed, though it had left a delicate scar. He checked the mail before doing anything else as he used to nowadays and this time he had actually received a letter, with a French postage stamp and seal. He lost no second opening the envelope, his fingers trembling in anticipation. 

It was not a letter though that he had received, instead, he found a flight ticket. One-way, to France. He smiled, his decision was already made.

Will heard his telephone ringing, he hurried inside, picked up, and sighed. Jack.  
Jack had survived Hannibal's attack and after he had recovered he was reinserted into his old position. Will had cut all ties he had to the FBI after the fallout and he did not intend to reform them, considering how his past work with the FBI had damaged his psyche and health. And now Jack wanted him to return as they needed his imagination skills to solve another case.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but I have to decline. Could you tell Alana please to stop by? The dogs miss her. Thank you. No, I will not change my decision. Why? I have other plans. Yes. Farewell, Jack."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hannibal Kink Meme, original prompt can be found [here](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=7154411). Check out the second fill as well, it is wonderful.
> 
> My first 'fic ever published and second ever written. Please be gentle - I need to practise much, much more, especially because I'm no native speaker.


End file.
